I Hope the Pilgrims Had it Easier
by LizzieV
Summary: Rizzles. Thanksgiving always brings people together. Thanksgiving family drama-on the other hand-can bring even the best of friends closer.
1. Setting the Trap

Disclaimer: Don't own "Rizzoli & Isles" and not making any money from this story

A/N: This is my first foray into the Rizzles world and I am very apprehensive about it! I'm only writing this because **LOCISVU** won this as a prize for being a crazy awesome reviewer. Besides **LOCISVU**, this story is dedicated to my new creative director, **triskle,** for being a great collaborator and friend! Obrigada!

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**I Hope the Pilgrims Had it Easier**

**Part One**

It'd become somewhat of a weekend tradition—when both Jane and Maura were not on the hunt for a mass murderer—to have brunch at Dr. Isles' place. It had morphed into a more frequent occurrence after Jane's mother, Angela Rizzoli, had begun to live with the ME. Nesting seemed to take over after the Rizzoli matriarch's marriage ended; now, the former Mrs. Rizzoli jumped at the chance to cook hearty Italian meals for anyone who would sit down at the table with her. Maybe at first the two women indulged the brunch habit out of a sense of pity for the older woman who'd had to start a new life on her own. Now, Jane and Maura gladly sat together to sate their appetites on homemade lasagna or pasta on (at least) a weekly basis. Jane knew she'd gained at least ten pounds over the last month because of it, but the physically-active detective didn't mind as much since insulation during a Boston winter was a necessity. What she _did_ mind, however, was the bombshell her mother had dropped as soon as Maura had retreated to her bedroom out of earshot. Angela told her feisty daughter that they would be spending the upcoming harvest holiday as a family. And with all the fixings.

"This is the first Thanksgiving that I am not on duty or on call and you want to ruin it for me?" Jane followed her mom around the sizeable island in Maura's kitchen, trying to get her mother's attention by flailing her arms about angrily. It didn't seem to be working because her mother continued to put dirty dishes in the sink and started the water for them to soak. "Ma. Ma! Please, just this once, let's order Chinese and spend the day in front of the tube. I, for one, will be _very_ thankful." Though Jane was using her most pleading tones—reverting back to her childhood ways in an attempt to jar a reaction from her mother—it wasn't working.

And yet Detective Jane Rizzoli knew her mother had heard every word and was choosing to ignore her only daughter. "You know that you'll end up cooking everything while Frankie and I drink and watch football. I'm just thinking of you here, Ma. And Mr. Chen at the China Pearl restaurant owes me a favor."

Though she didn't make a sound, both Jane and Angela turned as Maura re-entered the living area of her main house. As put together as ever in a stylish skirt suit, the good doctor stepped closer to her companions as she placed a final earring to finish off the ensemble."Did you know that the original Thanksgiving celebration lasted three days? There were around ninety Wampanoag natives along with their chief, Massasoit. The Pilgrims were _severely_ outnumbered." Maura's eyes widened as she shared the tidbit, seeming to sympathize greatly with the plight of the early Americans.

"Oh no! Three days? How did they survive being around family for three whole days?" Jane asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes. _Three __hours __is __too __long __with __the __Rizzolis_, a thought she kept to herself

"Funny you should mention survival…" Maura touched her finger to her chin, attempting to remember the details of a particularly long and informational story about the Plymouth settlers. Jane's hand around her wrist stopped her mid-thought.

"No. Good God woman, no more. You win. What do I have to do?" Jane relented with a heavy sigh, resigning herself to the fact that when her mom and Maura were in cahoots, there was no stopping them.

"All we want, Jane, is a family Thanksgiving. _Your _family. Now that Tommy's back, we thought it would be a great idea to have everyone over for a traditional celebration." Maura offered her classic smile while delivering her response.

"_We_, ma? _We?_" Detective Rizzoli turned her gaze back to her mother, knowing that this was less a 'we' decision and more of an Angela Rizzoli production. "Maura, you really don't have to do this. I don't think you know what you are getting yourself into with all the Rizzolis under the same roof. Adding food, booze, and sporting events to the mix…I just can't guarantee that your house will make it to Black Friday unscathed." Maura leaned over the counter, looking at Jane as she continued her rant. "To be brutally honest, I fear for your safety." The way Jane could deadpan a line it was hard to tell if it was her dry sense of humor making itself known or if she was speaking the truth.

"I know what I'm getting myself into." Dr. Isles smile could easily become unnerving, especially when she looked straight in your eyes and lowered her voice.

After swallowing a lump she didn't know had formed, Jane began to ask the question that really needed asking. "Maura, it's Sunday afternoon and neither one of us has to work. Why the _hell_ are you dressed for tea with the Queen?"

"Jane, don't be silly. If I was having tea with the Queen, I would be required to wear stockings. Did you know-?" A silent hand in the air by the brunette BPD officer let Maura know that she did not know nor did she care to know _whatever_ it was she'd been about to relay. "Anyway, I'm dressed for my mani/pedi. It's been three weeks and Viviane is going to be rather angry at the state of disrepair of my nails. The past few crime scenes we've had in remote, outdoor places have not helped the situation at all." Maura raised her hands to better inspect what looked to the casual observer as well-kept hands. Only someone with Dr. Isles particular attention to detail would pick up the micro-fissures present at the corners of a couple of the fingernails in question.

"I'll try and make sure to let people know that they should only be murdered in convenient places that won't wreak havoc on your nail polish." Jane didn't even try to mask her eye roll this time.

"And I'll make sure that Thanksgiving dinner drags out as long as possible, Miss Sarcastic Pants." Maura thought better of sticking out her tongue.

"When you get back from the day spa with a dress code, we're going to work on your witty retorts. That last one almost made me cry in sympathy," Jane responded quickly.

"Jane! Stop being rude and let Maura go to her appointment. It's like no one every taught you any manners!" When her mother talked to her like that, she instinctively took a few steps away lest the older woman decided to smack her upside the head. Though Angela Rizzoli hadn't performed that particular action since Jane had reached the age of majority, it was never out of the question with the hot-blooded Italian mother.

Maura's cell phone picked that particular moment to ring and since Jane's hadn't chimed in unison, the detective was pretty sure it wasn't work-related. Given such an opportunity, Jane resumed the bickering with her mother. In their family, bickering such as this was the way they showed their love. It wasn't until a few moments had passed (and a few choice retorts exchanged between the two Rizzoli women concerning the strained dynamics between certain family members) that Jane looked over at Maura and noticed the color draining from her best friend's complexion. Immediately concern took over; Jane's heart beating a little faster in apprehension as she approached Maura to see what had transpired. The look on Maura's face—the drawn expression and widened eyes—did not bode well at all.

"Maura, what's the matter? Who was that on the phone?" Jane made her way closer to her friend, standing inches away as she asked her probing questions.

"I just received horrible news!" Maura initially looked as if she was going to elaborate on the statement and Jane waited somewhat patiently for her to do so. But then the natural impatience of Detective Rizzoli caught up to the situation…

"What is it, Maura? You're freaking me out! Is it your mother?" Jane paused with the questions as Maura met her gaze with a fear she had never witnessed radiating from the doctor's eyes. "Oh God, it's your mother, isn't it? Was she in an accident?" Jane reached out a hand and wrapped it around Maura's upper shoulder, hoping the gentle touch would offer support to her friend.

"Worse." Maura paused, perhaps the slightest bit of anxious tears welling in her eyes. "She's coming to Thanksgiving dinner!"

Jane released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding…in relief. "Maura! Oh my God, what the hell? You scared the crap out of me! How is your mother coming to dinner worthy of putting the fear of death into my body?" Jane removed her grasp, and took a step back. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Same here, darling," Angela added. "This is fantastic news! We had such a great time the last time your mother came to dinner with us. She absolutely loved it; I remember it clear as day. And what I have planned for Thanksgiving will just knock her socks off, I'm sure."

Maura turned back to Jane; the thin, pressed line of the doctor's lips letting the detective know that that particular scenario was exactly what she feared the most though was too polite to reveal. "Oh no, Angela. I couldn't possibly impose on your goodwill to cook for my mother as well. Why don't we get Pierre from Mistral Bistro to cater something for us instead? That way we can all enjoy-oh my God, Jane. My mother is coming!" Jane was absolutely certain the only thing preventing her best friend from fainting at this particular moment was the recent consumption of a rich eggplant parmesan. "Pierre's probably been booked for months for this Thursday and what if he wants to spend it with his family and we'll never be able to find a suitable replacement in time given that we are four days from the actual event and my mother doesn't even eat turkey and maybe—"

"Maura, what I need you to do right now is take some deep breaths. We are going to figure this out. Worse comes to worst, we booze her up until all she remembers is what a good time she had." Jane looked hard at Maura, making sure her friend was focused on the calming timber of her raspy voice. "Trust me, enough liquor and your mother is going to have the time of her life."

"Sweetheart, Jane's right." Upon hearing those words out of her mother's mouth, Jane's reflexes screamed to make note of this instance when Angela Rizzoli agreed she was correct about something, _anything_. But this was not the time. This was about Maura. "Why don't you head to your salon because you are going to be late? I know how much you hate to be tardy."

"I can't handle this right now. I can't handle being late. Oh God." Maura was slightly calmer, but anything besides the stoic scholar she usually played was definitely out of the ordinary and made Jane uneasy.

"Janey, you need to drive Maura to her appointment. You need to stay with her right now," Angela directed. The glare Jane threw at her mother definitely made it clear that the younger Rizzoli did not agree with the course of action, but Jane thought it best not to voice her concerns given the delicacy of the situation. Especially since Maura had now been mumbling "Oh God" incessantly for the past few minutes; an indication that everything was indeed not right with the usually eloquent forensic pathologist.

"Fine, ma. I'm going to drive her to Chez Nails but I want you to know that this discussion about Thanksgiving is not over! Especially given the wrench thrown into our plans by you know who's you know what's coming to feast with us."

"I can't be late to Beaucage! Newbury Street! Oh God, mother." Maura was still unable to form coherent sentences and Jane thought it best to just usher her out the door and into her car, googling directions on her phone as the brunette detective started the engine.

* * *

"Mon ami! What's this? We do not have reservations for your friend, ma chere!" Jane assumed this uppity French woman was the Viviane Maura had spoken of early.

"This friend doesn't need a reservation. This friend is just here to observe." Jane crossed her arms defiantly about her chest as she answered the woman who was being so rude without cause.

"Mon dieu! If you insist, we do have a new girl that could be of service. She's not very good, she's only been with us for three years." Viviane snapped her fingers condescendingly, "Gertrude, come along dear. I have a client who is willing to suffer through a manicure with you. Of course I will have to charge her half of our usual fee given she will be serviced by an apprentice." Jane shook her head violently. What part of "I just want to watch" did this woman not understand?

Gertrude, a respectable looking young lady, walked towards the reception area and politely took Jane's hand. As she shook it, she quickly inspected the brunette's nail beds to see what she'd be getting herself into. "Hi, I've been here for five years and she still insists I'm the new girl. I promise I'll do a good job, I've been certified as a manicurist for a decade now."

"You know, sushi chefs train for at least five years just learning the intricacies of making the rice for the sushi. I'm sure the same methodology could be applied to the art of manicures," Maura raised an eyebrow as she talked, following Viviane to her usual station.

"I think me and Gertrude here are going to get along just fine." Jane gave a knowing smile to the young manicurist, relaying in that little expression that she knew exactly how she felt.

**~TBC~**


	2. Placing the Bait

A/N: This was supposed to be just a one chapter kind of story, but had to split it into three because I haven't been able to finish it with all the "family time" I'm currently experiencing. I'm definitely sympathizing with Jane right about now. A huge thank you to **triskle**, **Oh-My-Sarah-Jane** , **texas**, **Lucy, **and **thkgoutloud** for reviewing the first chapter. You all are FANTASTIC and I greatly appreciate you making my first (and probably only) Rizzles fic a success!

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**I Hope the Pilgrims Had it Easier**

**Part Two**

"She painted them pink, Maura. Pink! And do you know why dear, sweet Gertrude painted my nails the color of puked up cupcake frosting at a ten-year olds birthday party? She did it to get back at _you_ for that sushi rice remark you just _had_ to make." Jane hit the wheel of her car a little harder than she had to. The motorists on either side of the vehicle would think she was just suffering from a classic case of road rage most Bostonians were quite familiar with.

"That's absurd. Why would she take her revenge out on you?" Maura asked seriously, trying to decipher the logic.

"Because she knew I'd bitch to you about it until I get my hands on a bottle of acetone. Who is the real victim in all of this?" Jane responded, now clutching the leather wheel tighter than necessary.

"The nail polish manufacturer?" Maura couldn't hold her smirk back any longer.

"No. It's me, Maura. I'm the victim." Jane flung a hand into the air, showing off the rosy hue enamel in all its glory. "I'm the damn middle man." Jane looked over at the passenger seat and saw her best friend's mirth plain on her face. "Well, you seem to be in a good mood all of a sudden. And by 'good mood' I mean forming coherent sentences and not having every other word be 'mother'."

"Viviane suggested a few chefs that have the capability to cater on short notice so I am feeling quite a bit more optimistic about Thanksgiving dinner with Mother. One of them specializes in duck a l'orange that she insists is just out of this world!" Maura clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh 'duck a l'orange', my favorite!" Jane sing-songed.

"I know, right? It is such a chore finding a cook who can adequately balance the challenge of roasting a whole duck and keeping the breasts juicy—you were being facetious, weren't you?" Maura asked, already knowing the answer. This was Jane; she was used to the sarcasm, even learned to love it. Shrugging, she changed the subject back. "Oh, and I think your nails are very adorable." Maura took the closest hand off the steering wheel for closer inspection, secure in knowing that Jane could drive safely with just the one. "You should keep it for awhile."

"Adorable. You think my nail polish is adorable." Jane didn't say her response as questions, rather as a restatement of a fact she was trying to digest. The dark-haired detective sighed and briefly took her eyes off the road (they were at a red light anyway) to better inspect the coat of veneer she'd been so recently subjected to. It wasn't _that_ bad, she guessed. Maybe she'd consider keeping it on for a few days, just through the holiday. But if Korsak or Frost even started to poke fun at Jane's "girl-ification", she'd whip the cotton balls and remover out so fast it'd make their heads spin.

* * *

"All set! Jean-Luc will be providing the proteins and sides for Thanksgiving to the standards expected by my Mother!" Maura set her phone on the kitchen counter and made a show of sighing in relief. She turned to the cabinet with the shelves labeled 'wine glasses' and expertly placed two on the island. Maura pulled a bottle of Shiraz from her secret stash, quickly uncorked it and poured out two generous helpings.

"Oh no," Jane started.

"I know, I should let it breath a little," Maura waved her hand in a circular motion, obviously trying to imitate the act of wine breathing. "But I need it now."

"No, that's not what I meant. It was something more like 'oh no, I will not drink wine even in celebration of you booking some French foodie who once cooked for the…King of Bhutan or whatever.'" Jane pointed to the filled glasses and shook her head.

"This wine isn't for you. It's for me and your mom." Maura smiled at the look Jane gave her. It was similar to the look she got when the Red Sox were out of the pennant race. "You can grab a beer if you like," Maura winked and walked the two glasses to the coffee table in the living room. As if on cue, Angela Rizzoli walked in. Jane opened the refrigerator a little harder than she needed to and rattled _her_ "stash" of beer she kept in Maura's fridge before pulling one out.

"Jane! Seriously! Do you have the hands of a truck driver? You're disturbing our zen time." Angela made her way to the couch, swiftly taking her glass of wine and settling in next to Maura.

"Zen time? Are you kidding me right now?" As Jane mumbled the question into her now-open bottle, Maura turned around and smiled at her over the couch's top edge. The brunette detective saw her friend's shoulders shrug in a semblance of sympathy. "I'm just going to go in the guest room and watch some TV. I definitely don't want to interrupt _zen time_." Jane ignored Maura's chuckle as she made her way into the next room.

* * *

Preparations for Thanksgiving started early Thursday morning at Maura's home. Angela Rizzoli had awoken at the crack of dawn to begin work on the traditional Thanksgiving feast she'd managed to cook for the past forty years at least (yes, she'd started in the kitchen at the age of two). As she finished placing the massive turkey into the awaiting oven and closed the stove door, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Instantly on the alert, Angela grabbed the knife she'd recently used to cut celery with and brandished it as menacingly as she could, turning to meet the kitchen intruder…

"Janey honey, what are you doing here?" Angela recognized her daughter even though Jane's face was half-obscured by unruly bed hair. She put down the knife.

"I decided to come and crash after our late shift last night. I thought I'd need all my energy saved up to deal with today and didn't want to waste any on the commute from my apartment to here." Jane tried to wipe the sleep from her face, being so rudely awakened by the clanging of pans. "By the way, you're welcome for taking another killer off our streets."

"Well, actually it was the forensic evidence that caused the DA to press charges in the end." Maura entered the living area from her bedroom, still clad in a body-hugging night slip. "You're still welcome."

"Actually we would have never found the douchebag if it hadn't been for my—"

"Girls, please." The older woman held up a hand but it didn't stop Jane from sticking out her tongue at her best friend. "Jane! Stop. Just be glad that you two are finished with your work and can enjoy a relaxing day helping me prepare the meal."

"Oh, it's alright, Angela. I told you that Jean-Luc's sous chefs will be dropping off the food at around one. Mother is not expected until two." Maura nodded and smiled as she reaffirmed the plans. How did she always look so put together?

"I know, honey. I just thought I'd make the usual Thanksgiving dishes so people will have a choice." Jane knew what her mother really meant. There was no way her boys would be satisfied eating duck this special Thursday. "You can never have too many leftovers."

"Well, I always enjoy learning something new!" Maura exclaimed enthusiastically. Jane had a hard time telling if her best friend was serious or just trying to be nice to her mom.

"Good for you. I'll just be right over here on the couch watching the Macy's parade. Yell if you need me." Jane plopped on the sofa and turned on the Thanksgiving tradition she remembered watching growing up. "And please don't need me," she added for good measure wondering what would be an appropriate time to start in on the beer. Jane texted Frankie to get up and hurry over; drinking would be way more acceptable if her youngest brother was doing it too.

* * *

It was a little after eleven a.m. and Frankie and Jane were camped out on Maura's couch flipping the channel between infomercials and random marathons of "Law & Order"…finally feeling it would be okay to crack open a couple of brews. It was the holiday after all; there is no such thing as drinking too early during the holidays, right? Especially when you are being subjected to mandatory family time…both lifted their beer bottles in unison and took a swig as their mom answered the door. They turned to see who it was.

"Hey bro, glad to see dog walkers get Thanksgiving off. Is it, a paid holiday? Do you—what is it?—_accrue_ time or something?" Frankie laughed and Jane clinked her bottle against her younger brother's in toast to a good joke.

"Frankie, leave your brother alone!" Angela yelled from the kitchen area, wiping some flour or gravy onto her apron.

"Seeing to the proper care of canines is a very noble profession. Dogs are naturally good judges of character and a trustworthy dog walker is always a prized commodity." Maura ignored the snickers coming from the couch before continuing, "In the Boston metro area, licensed dog walkers must be trained in animal first-aid by law. Definitely a time investment." She smiled at Tommy who naturally returned the expression, their chemistry going not unnoticed by a certain detective. "You know, Tommy, I read the most interesting article on dog running. It is becoming the new 'it' service. You should suggest to your company that they should expand into the running business, they could charge a premium!"

Jane hoped her mother would then yell, "Maura, stop defending Tommy!"…but it never came. Instead Mother Rizzoli did nothing to cover the beam of pride she was directing at her recently-paroled son who was so pleasantly lost in conversation with the successful (and so pretty!) Dr. Isles.

"This is going to be _such_ a long day…" Jane mumbled as she took another swig.

* * *

"I'm just saying, I put money on the team with the better record. It just so happened to be the Niners. Plus, I'm thinking ahead to playoff implications." Frankie shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of his beer before setting it back on the table and returning his attention to the pre-game football commentary. He knew full-well that the sound of the television sports analyst would soon be drowned out by his sister's condescending voice.

"Frankie! I don't care who has the better record! If you are going to bet on a game that does not have the New England Patriots in the mix, you go with the team that is closest to home. Baltimore is a lot closer than San Francisco. I can't believe you right now." Luckily, the young BPD cop was saved by the bell. The door bell.

"Jane, honey. Get the door. We have our hands full with the green bean casserole!" Angela's commanding voice was louder than it had to be given that her children were only ten feet away at the most. Knowing that it would be a losing battle, Jane got up to do as her mother requested but mumbled a half-hearted "why do I have to be the one to get up? Is it because I'm the girl?" under her breath. Opening the door nearly caused her to lose it…

"Hey pumpkin, Happy Thanksgiving!" Frankie Sr. had a huge smile plastered on his face and his arm around a woman at least ten years too young for him. _Good God, could this day get any worse?_

Jane closed the door slowly; taking the moments it took for it to click shut to plot her course of action. There was only one way of dealing with this situation. "Frankie! Get your ass over here!" Her brother had no idea why Jane was using her cop voice with him, but he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant and time was of the essence. He quickly decided it would be in his best interest to see what was up. Jane still had her hand on the knob and a look on her face that read somewhere between disappointment and disgust.

"What is it, sis? Need help sending away missionaries or something?"

"No. It's Dad. Here. Right now." Jane's sentence was cut into short utterances as she told Frankie what was happening through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, I invited him." Jane's glare increased tenfold as he added, "What? The man's gotta eat, right? Why not with his family on Thanksgiving?" Frankie tried to appeal to his sister's sense of family. It didn't seem to be working too well.

She raised her eyebrow and lowered her voice to her gravelliest register. "He brought a woman."

"Oh shit, Janey, Ma's gonna blow a gasket. What the hell are we going to do?" The younger Rizzoli raked his fingers through his hair.

"Oh no, it's not what _we_ are going to do…it's what _you_ are going to do, little brother. You started this mess, you're going to finish it." Jane patted him on the back and walked back towards the kitchen, suddenly in need of a refill. She heard Frankie open the door and greet his father, telling him and his "friend" to make themselves at home while he took care of business. She heard him take a deep breath and walk towards where Maura and her mother were still in the depths of cooking. Jane popped the top on her newest bottle of beer and leaned against the fridge, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

"Dina? Dina Pantilukos from down the street? That Greek troia will be eating _my_ Thanksgiving dinner sitting next to my ex-husband?" Angela clutched a hand to her heart in a play at dramatics causing Maura to jump into action and find the pulse point of Mrs. Rizzoli's wrist with her able fingers. "I will pull that fake weave off the back of her head and send it first-class to that loud mouth mother of hers before I allow her to break bread with _my_ family."

"Ma, I know Jane doesn't want to ruin this precious holiday by having to investigate a brutal homicide taking place here in Maura's home." Frankie was trying to diffuse the situation any which way he could.

Maura was standing next to Jane and added to her friend, "Well, if you have to _choose_ where to investigate a murder, I think your own home ranks up there in pretty convenient. Plus, I wouldn't have to worry too much about messing up my lovely manicure." She sounded serious too.

Jane was getting really good at the mumbling and all that could be discerned was something about "actually a murder wouldn't be such an unpleasant thing right about now." After receiving quite the glare from her mother, Jane pointed at the TV and said a little too loudly, "Oh, look! Kick-off between the Lions and the Packers! I really don't want to miss this…" Jane walked sheepishly towards the living room, two more beers now in hand. She passed off one of the brews to Tommy and her dad in turn, making sure to shake her head in disbelief at Frankie Sr.'s recent course of action. Luckily, she didn't have to play hostess to her father's guest—a girl she distinctly remembered graduating only a few years ahead of herself—Maura had brought over a glass of wine and set it in front of Dina.

* * *

~TBC~

I hope to have the last chapter up before the next major holiday…it's bad enough that this is a Thanksgiving fic and I'm updating on New Year's…*shakes head at self*


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